


Their Tongues Battled for Dominance?

by BeaRyan



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon verse, Crack, M/M, Romantic Comedy, minor appearances by Raven Octavia and Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 00:20:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeaRyan/pseuds/BeaRyan
Summary: Wick the Grounder finds Bellamy the Spaceman intriguing.  Distracting.  Unnerving.  OK fine, he's stupid hot and Wick wants to taste the stars.Written for Chopped Round Three: Canon VerseRequired tropes1. Everyone else thinks you're an asshole2. Trapped together3. I'm going to kiss you now4. Character spot swapBonus question: Most unique pairing





	Their Tongues Battled for Dominance?

No matter what he put in his reports, the dark haired one, the one the kids called Bellamy, wasn't actually an asshole if Wick was being honest. There was no denying he was cocky. Cocksure. Prancing around like cock of the walk. 

What was it about the man that made the word cock keep coming into Wick's mind? 

He was going hunting again - the spaceman seemed to hunt nonstop - and Wick sighed and resigned himself to another round of letting the pretty boy think his spear had actually hit something. Technically this was the crime of helping the enemy, but Indra had ordered the kids contained until Lexa sent other orders, and when they were hungry they tended to wander.

Who could Wick have been if he'd been born in space instead of on the ground? Would he be a leader like Bellamy, a sage like Monty, or a weapons expert like Raven? So many options, all similar to what he had as a member of Trikru, but all sharply different, too. 

Instead of a life among the stars it was a life of mud and spears. 

It could be worse. 

He could be that poor bastard. 

All morning long the women threw their verbal slings at Bellamy, and Bellamy threw them right back. Wick thought his own mother could be a little tougher than necessary, and heaven and hell both knew Indra had a certain edge, but still he pitied the the space kids. Life was kill or be killed, but they didn't seem to realize there was a difference between an enemy and an asshole. You could just ignore an asshole. 

Like now, for instance. Now would be a great time for them to all to let go of their petty feuds and be quiet so that deer over the rise could get close enough to become dinner. 

"Just go home!" Bellamy yelled at his hunting companions. 

Octavia rolled her eyes. "Calm down, drama queen." 

Clarke leaned on her spear. "You're scaring off all the game." 

Raven didn't bother with a specific comment. She just pulled a face then turned on her heel and headed back to camp. 

"You two go west," Bellamy barked. "I'll go east." 

That was all he had to say to convince Octavia and Clarke to ignore him and follow Raven back to camp. At this rate Trikru wouldn't have to do anything to the children's camp. They'd destroy each other soon enough. 

At least now Bellamy would be able to "hunt" for whatever value of hunt he could muster, and as soon as that was done Wick could go back to sitting in a tree and drawing in his notebook. It was dull, definitely lacking in intellectual stimulation, but it beat the hell out of all this hiking. Why were they always hiking? One tree was pretty much like the next even if Trikru and Azgeda each felt they needed sole control of all of them. 

Half an hour later the beautiful space boy had wandered into the Mountain Men's territory and it was time to be on alert again. Ugg. If it wasn't the panthers or the gorilla it was the drug addicted cannibals. However bad things had been in space it had to be better than life on earth. Wick definitely should have been born in space. He and Bellamy could have been friends. Lovers even. Wick liked a partner who gave him a hard time. 

It had been too long since a partner had given him a good, hard time. 

What would sex with a spaceman be like? He'd seen plenty of signs of rutting in their camp but hadn't gotten close enough to work out the exact details. An imagination was a blessing and a curse in this case. Even the way they kissed was hard to understand. Kissing was supposed to be soft, a respite from a harsh world, but they went at each other like their tongues were battling for dominance. Was that pleasant? It had to be. Someone was kissing in their camp at all times. 

The snap of a twig pulled Wick back to reality, and the shade of blue he glimpsed through the trees told him all he cared to know. Mountain Man. Wick could stay hidden and let them haul his spaceman away for death inside The Mountain or he could act. Act and put himself at risk. Act and be captured. 

Act and earn the gratitude of a sexy, strutting spaceman who didn't know when to quit. 

Well, putting himself in between Bellamy and the Mountain Man would be an idiotic choice, and Indra had called Wick the village idiot more than once. 

Show time. 

Run. Jump. Hand on his mouth. Tackle. Fuck, the ground is hard. Why is the ground always so hard? Focus. Whisper. "The guy in the puffy suit wants to kill us both and I don't feel like dying right now. You?" 

Bellamy's voice was even lower up close, and since they were pressed chest to chest Wick could feel the rumble of it. "Who the hell are you?" 

"Later," Wick hissed. "Right now tell me if you want to live or die. I'm out of here in two breaths." 

"Live." 

"Stick with me." 

In Wick's experience there were two keys to using a skunk as a weapon: do it fast and keep the business end away from yourself. If he failed on either he'd come home reeking or not at all, and he wasn't certain he preferred to have a happy Mountain Man or an unhappy Indra in his future. Victory was the best option by far. 

The black and white bundle of stink smacked against the Mountain Man then hit the ground, spun around and bared its claws. With their potential attacker distracted, Wick grabbed Bellamy's hand. "Run." They legged it into a hard sided ravine with an inch of water in it, then sprinted through a perfectly round tunnel.

Bellamy murmured, "Looks man-made." 

"Unless you want to be man un-made you need to run." 

They left the culvert and headed up a steep hill. The sound of splashing behind them gave away the Mountain Man's approach. 

Wick spotted his target and shoved Bellamy through the curtain of vines that hid the old stone pavilion. There was no real protection here, just the remnants of a concrete table and benches half buried by the partially collapsed roof, but once inside they weren't visible, and they'd be able to hear the Mountain Man if he approached. 

Wick pushed Bellamy as far into the structure as he could, pressing the spaceman against the table, and hissed, "Silence." 

Somehow, despite their dire circumstances and Wick's daring rescue Bellamy still looked annoyed. Ungrateful space brat. 

Wick clenched his jaw and tried to channel his inner Indra. "Do you wish to die today?"

"Are you serious?" 

"Shut up until he goes by us." Wick meant for that to sound tougher, more like an order and less like a whine, but however it came out it seemed to work. 

Bellamy rested his ass on the edge of the table and leaned back on his arms like he was sunning himself on the beach instead of hiding in an old bit of crumbling suburban infrastructure. The man might not have a reliable sense of danger, but Wick couldn't fault his style or ability to pose. 

Time did nothing to slow Wick's pulse or breath even after the exertion of their run had worn off. Bellamy's nearness, his energy, filled the small space. No wonder the members of his camp flocked around him. The man was some sort of sensual genie, and Wick felt fully under his spell. 

Almost fully under. Wick did have enough of a grip on reality to wait until he heard the Mountain Man pass and his steps fade again before making a move. 

Wick tried to deepen his voice. "I'm going to kiss you now." He could have lied to himself and said it was for science, to learn the secrets of the insurgent leader, or some other bullshit reason if he gave himself long enough to come up with one. 

The truth was he just wanted to do it. Life was hard and brutal and Bellamy's mouth looked soft and fun. Something new. An alternative to dirt and violence. 

Kissing him was a revelation. Everything about the spaceman was new. His smell. His taste. The way he responded like a slowly growing fire, as if they had all the time in the world. 

Wick wanted the experience he saw in their camp, the frantic passion, the desperation to make the moment meaningful. Instead Bellamy let it spool out like thread, tangled and endless. 

Was there a way to count kisses if your lips never really separated? Their bodies grew closer, hands roamed, and breaths came more quickly, but the kiss never ended. 

Maybe nothing had to end. Maybe they could stay here sheltered from it all forever, just the two of them with plenty of time. No enemies. No territory lines. Just unending touches.

"Bellamy!" The sound ripped through the peace of the pavilion like a spear, killing the moment but only slightly wounding Wick's passion. If the call hadn't been immediately repeated and then joined by another voice maybe Wick could have kept him there, but once they heard Octavia yell out, "Bell!" it was over. 

Bellamy scooted back on the table, pulling away, and roughed a hand through his hair. "They're looking for me." 

Wick nodded, and just in time remembered to pretend he hadn't been spying on the camp for a week. "You're Bellamy." 

"I am. You are?" The man's smile should be classified as a weapon. 

"Wick." 

"Nice to meet you, Wick, but I need to go." Bellamy leveraged himself off the table and pushed through the curtain of vines without a backward look. 

When Wick was certain Bellamy was too far away to hear he said, "May we meet again."

**Author's Note:**

> Crack kills. Comments pleasantly stimulate. Why not both? Both is good.


End file.
